“What?” I say blankly. “Why would we go anywhere?”
“Duh, because it’sGoa? And we’re literally in the heart of it?”
“Priti,” Rudra says, running a hand through his hair. He looks sotired; I can see it in the creases that have formed under his eyes. “We just got here. We need rest.”
“Ruds, how many times are we going to come to Goa together?” Priti grips his shoulders with both her hands.
“I know that, but—”
“No buts! I’ve come here with my family, and you’ve been here with your friends multiple times, but we’ve never been here together!”
“Priti, he’s been driving this whole time, and we spent all night out on that trek,” I say. “Look at him! He looks like he’s about to collapse to the floor right now.”
“Dude, come on.” Priti lets go of Rudra’s shoulders and grabs mine. Oops. That means she is about to work her wiles on me now. “Listen.You’re going back to Portland thisWednesday. These kind of impromptu Goa tripsdon’thappen. You know what they say. Goa trips are always planned, but they never pan out. You remember how the cousins were thinking of coming here for Divija didi’s birthday, but it never happened? This is amiracle. Us three, here.”
I’m tempted to remind her thatshewas the first one to back out, saying she had a college event, and that she never really cared if I was even there or not. But there’s a sort of earnestness in her eyes that I haven’t seen in a long, long time. It doesn’t feel put on, or fake, like she’s giving me the puppy eyes just to get me to agree, the way she did with Nani. She’s genuinely trying to make an effort to heal things between us. The way I am.
And I can’t crush that. That’s not me. I don’t do that. Any tiny chance I see of things getting better or working, I try my level best to see it through.
“But we’re heading out tomorrow anyway,” I add. To be honest, I’m not against the idea of going out for a bit. I got my well-needed sleep in the car. It’s Rudra I’m worried about. “We can see Goa then.Right now, we should really get some rest.”
“Krishna, you can never see Goa enough.” Priti leans closer to me, her dark eyes boring into mine, making it impossible to look away. If she’s trying to hypnotize me into saying yes, it’s already working. “How about this? We’ll just head out to Baga Beach—it’s only ten minutes from here by car—grab a couple drinks, eat some good food, and get back in an hour.” She flips toward Rudra. “What do you think? We’ll only go if you want to.” She pauses, shoots him a wicked grin, and shrugs. “Just reminding you that the drinks here are unmatched.”
Rudra sighs, and I see his resolve crumbling. “All right. One hour can’t hurt.”
Priti turns to me, clapping her hands together like a little kid. How did I even consider bursting her bubble for a minute there?
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come.”
“Prepare to have the best hour of your lives!” Priti says as she does a little dance, before rushing over to her duffel bag, throwing it open, and pulling clothes out fervently.
Rudra and I exchange a small smile. And I know what he’s wishing—that this moment of elation and happiness she’s having doesn’t get crushed forever tomorrow.
26
The Emotional Whiplash of Crying One Moment and Being Horny the Next
Goa, Monday
Getting ready is a whole ritual on its own. Priti pulls a sexy black bodycon dress from her duffel that I just knowis going to have her lookingsnatched. Most of her clothes are black, or at least outfits with one piece of clothing that’s black, and it suits her vibe. And I’m sure the girlies dig it.
It’s both funny and sad that someone as attractive as Priti, who could literally get any girl she’s ever wanted, is desperately in love with someone who’s getting married tomorrow. For that, she seems pretty sane right about now. I’d be genuinely losing my mind.
Rudra’s getting ready in the living room (Priti not-very-politely shooed him away and he stepped out immediately, his bag and guitar case in tow), and the door between us is locked shut, giving us our privacy.
I open my suitcase, surveying my clothes, as if I’m going to finda gorgeous new outfit miraculously tucked into it by some magical fairy godmother. I have two outfits left—the lehenga choli in the saree bag I’m planning to wear to the wedding tomorrow and a half-sleeved sky-blue kurti.
Everything else has been worn and needs washing, or at least ironing and perfuming. All I have is some spare underwear because I live by the policy that one can never pack too much underwear for a trip.
I sigh, taking out the kurti and holding it up in front of me. Not very Goa-like, but it’ll look cute with my jean shorts. It’ll have to do.
“You can’t wear that!” Priti exclaims. “We’re in Goa, Krishna, not Varanasi.”
“First off, this is a very cute kurti and it’s a stereotype that you can’t rock Indian-wear in a club. Second, I don’t have anything else to wear. Only the lehenga choli for tomorrow.”
“Okay, sorry,” Priti says, and I gape at her, surprised to hear that forbidden word come out of her mouth of its own accord. “Itisvery cute, but you need something that’s sexy. Not cute.”
“Well, all I have left is clean underwear.”
